


Psych

by Xenolis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen, Inspired by Psych (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23802517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenolis/pseuds/Xenolis
Summary: Pretending to be psychic so you didn't get arrested by the Avengers, weirdly enough, wasn't the worst thing you'd done in your life. It was a bonus that you could spend time with the badass Black Widow when a murder case turns into something a lot more dire.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel) & Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Psych

**Author's Note:**

> Written July 2018. Reader is basically Shawn Spencer and it was so much fuckin fun to write that type of character, lol

It wasn't an ideal situation, you had to admit; but, looking on the bright side- you met the Avengers!

 _Sure_ , they may be glaring at you and whispering their suspicions behind raised hands, and you were stuck in a small room, being interrogated by various members who clearly didn't believe you, but they were _there_ and you were able to hold a decent conversation, even if it was about the crime you helped solve with flying colours. You played with your fingers on the cold metal of the table, glancing to the two-way mirror you presumed held some other people.

The one and only Tony Stark smushed his face with a hand, exasperation casting exhaustion across his weary features. “Okay, one more time: how did you know where Misery was hiding?”

You paused, recalling the events of the previous night for a third time. The layout of your messy flat illuminated in your mind, picture perfect down to the detail. There you were, grabbing the TV remote with one hand to turn on the news channel, like you did most nights because _apparently_ the actual authorities were entirely useless at solving obvious crimes. A newsreader was listing off the names of the latest victims of Misery, who was the moniker for some psycho that had been ravaging the neighbourhood for the past few weeks. When it was discovered that the weirdo was enhanced, the Avengers were called onto the case and clued in on the details that weren't released to the public; although, you didn't doubt that Tony Stark knew everything already, due to his known propensity for unearthing secrets when boredom struck.

It seemed that the serial killer had grown cocky, like most free criminals, and had shown his ugly mug for the first time by using a victim's phone to record himself. The report cut to a grainy clip of a guy with wild eyes and a ski mask which had a wide grin coloured over the mouth. He spoke with a slight tremor in his voice, sounding a few pitches lower than was likely natural for him.

Your eyes skimmed over his appearance, picking out anything and everything. You noticed a yellow stain on the sleeve of his shirt - mustard, perhaps? - and spotted the corner of a wrinkled napkin scrunched up in his pocket. There was some kind of inked design on the food-stained paper, barely visible, but you were sure that you recognised it as the logo of a quirky restaurant that was somewhere nearby. That combined with the faint red brick dust smeared across the black of the mask and sprinkled across his clothing, which you recalled seeing once before when you were meandering around the city, you presumed that it was likely he was hiding in a local mausoleum. You had no idea why the dead guy wanted his final resting place to be the colour of baked beans, but if it helped you solve the case, then... thanks, dead dude.

A quick call and an innocent tip to the police concluded the boring part of your evening. The door to your bedroom opened and a stunning girl leant on the door frame with a pout, wearing only lingerie that complimented her figure. She sighed, sauntering over and settling herself on your lap.

“Are you done?” She murmured, already brushing her lips along the sensitive skin of your neck. “I came here for fun, not-”

You cut her off with a rough kiss- and, well, the rest was history. It's a shame she was just a one-night stand, really. She was hot- but anyway, that's not important.

“I'm telling you, I just watched the video! It was obvious when you looked close enough,” you huffed. “Seriously, why am I here? Is it to give me an award? Because if so, I'm not sure if I want it anymore!”

“It's highly possible that Misery wasn't working alone.” A bombshell redhead you knew was Black Widow entered the room silently, fixing you with an uncomfortably intense glare. As gorgeous as she was, you knew not to mess with her.

“What, so I-” You stumbled over your words in disbelief, letting out a wheeze of laughter. “You think _I'm_ the partner?”

“We can't take any chances. There's no way you knew where he was hiding just by watching the video, and until you decide to talk, you're going to be sent to solitary confinement.” Natasha kept her gaze even, and yet it somehow was burning into your very soul and making you squirm in your seat.

“Yeah, okay, I'm done,” Tony grumbled. “Agents, you can... _something_ \- I need coffee.”

He got up as the door slid open again, revealing a couple of people in uniform who took you by the arms and started to forcefully lead you out. You struggled as much as you dared, indignance and panic rising within your chest. It wasn't the first time you'd been in trouble with the police, but this was a way bigger deal - not to mention, you'd seen the food they serve prisoners, and you did _not_ want anything to do with such uncouth meals.

But what were you supposed to do? You'd already told them the truth, and look where it got you.

You watched helplessly as Tony exited the room, taking an unintentional note of his wrinkled grey shirt, which had an image of a dream catcher on the front, seeming entirely out of place on his body in comparison to his usual fashion sense. It was a silly thing to notice, but your dad had ensured you'd never miss a single detail by telling you over and over and _over_ to count the hats in the room without looking when you were growing up, or-

Wait. _Dream-catcher..._

A crazy idea entered your mind. It was a terrible idea try it in front of a skilled assassin who was also fluent in lies, but spontaneity and rambling had always been your strong point.

“Okay, okay!” You yelped out dramatically, schooling your features as best you could. “I'll tell you the truth!”

Tony immediately perked up. “ _Please_. I just want this case to end.”

“The truth is...” You slipped your arms from the loosened grip, wiggling your fingers as you raised your hands slowly, staring at them in awe. “I'm a psychic.”

“A psychic,” he deadpanned, groaning and making as if to continue on his way. “ _Great..._ ”

You spared a moment to recall all the important details you noticed while been led into the room. The agents next to you had interacted quite interestingly, with flirty, lingering looks and subtle touches while walking. It would've been easily missed by anyone else, so you presumed it was a well-kept secret between them.

“Wait!” You regained all attention as your arms started moving, palms circling the air until they came to rest in front of the agent guy next to you. “The spirit world is giving me some serious vibes... what? Oh... I see...”

“Get on with it,” Tony grumbled, rolling his dark eyes tiredly.

“You... are married,” you proclaimed mystically.

The guy raised his hand, displaying a ring. “Obviously.”

“Yes, yes, but wait... there are more things being said to _me!_ It's being whispered quite seductively into my ear, actually. Wait, _seductively?_ ” You threw your body to the side, against the other wall and shoved your shaking hands in front of the female agent. “Of course... That is unfortunate. He may be married, but... he is having an affair with _you,_ young lady. Oh, it's _filthy,_ and _sordid_ \- and very, _very_ sticky.”

She gasped and stuttered, glancing, wide-eyed at her partner who seemed equally as shocked. “N-no, that's not-”

Natasha stepped out of the interrogation room and crossed her arms. “That's not going to be enough to convince us. Does the _spirit world_ have anything else to share?”

Again, your memory backed up like a rewinding movie, and you remembered glancing into a room with a slightly ajar door. Inside that room, there was a vending machine without any lights on, and by the dusty choice panel you could presume it hadn't been working for a while. You recalled a note in the elevator that told you it was last serviced five months ago, so...

“Oh, I'm broken! I'm so broken!” You flung yourself to the ground melodramatically, gasping and clutching at your chest. “But... I'm not alive... no, yes, I understand, spirits, I can see clearly now. On the third floor, something no longer works... _yes_ , it has been faulty for five months, and yet no-one has tried to fix it.”

Tony was starting to look interested. Even the agents had ceased their glares and hissed whispers at one another to pay attention to your little performance. You shifted your position, staring up at the lights and blinking dazedly, raising fingers to poke at the air and count.

“One, two... Three, four... what does this mean? Please, lend me your power!” You exclaimed, only to fall silent in mock amazement as you watched your hands trace a large rectangle in the air, before drawing two lines and coming to rest in one spot. “The machine... if you hit it just below and to the left of the numbers, it will give you free food.”

Tony raised his eyebrows and glanced between everyone else in the room, before dashing off excitedly. It wasn't long before he came bounding back with an elated expression on his face and a chocolate bar in his hand. He patted you on the shoulder as he passed, looking quite content, although he had the decency to slightly cower away from Natasha's deadly gaze that was still scrutinising you.

“Yep, seems psychic to me,” he commented as he unwrapped the treat, taking a happy bite.

“I'm still not convinced. You could've found that out via other ways. What if you're spying on us?” She insisted with that look which had somehow gone beyond terrifying and was now kind of turning you on, although now was _not_ the time.

“Nat, your best friend turns into the Green Giant when he gets angry, and you're not willing to believe in psychics?” He shook his head in amazement before pointing towards you with the half-melted chocolate bar. “I think you have a future with us yet. You can go.”

Natasha's eyes widened and she finally looked away from you, aiming her fury at the billionaire-genius-philanthropist. “Stark, I don't think-”

“What's your number? Wait, scratch that - we'll find you when we need you. Someone with your abilities could be a real help...” He trailed off, scratching at his rough beard that clearly needed a trim. “Well, that's this problem dealt with. Night.”

He wandered off again, stumbling down the hall and slumping into the elevator. The agents by your sides exchanged a bewildered look, before uncertainly following orders and guiding you back towards the outside world that you thought you'd never see again. You spared a glance over your shoulder, seeing Natasha's strong figure still standing in the same place. Her brow was furrowed and she practically radiated irritation. She caught your gaze mercilessly, shaking her head an almost imperceptible amount.

You faced forward again, biting back a smug grin.

*

Your encounter with two of the founding members of the Avengers was bragged about to anyone and everyone who would listen, since you weren't known to keep your mouth shut about anything, and no-one ever told you to be secretive about the whole deal. Of course, due to your tendency to embellish your exploits, it wasn't like anyone believed you without any proof - not that it bothered you, because you were the one who knew that Natasha couldn't keep her eyes off you.

Whether it was out of caution or lust, that didn't matter. You were always good with the ladies, and she just proved your point.

It was a hazy Sunday the next month when you finally got the call you'd been surreptitiously waiting for.

There was a new bad guy in town, probably with some dumb name like _The Crusher_ or something - you'd zoned out when the news reporter had spoken. They seemed to repeatedly slip out of the grasp of authorities, despite them showing their face with an arrogant smirk. You had initially intended to skim through the internet to see if anything was immediately obvious, but... that was a lot of reading, man. It was so boring, and no-one knew anything, anyway.

However, the perk of no-one knowing anything: they turned to you for help.

“Good afternoon, you have reached my place of residence,” you answered your phone, reclining on your sofa and kicking your feet onto the coffee table.

“Hey, it's me.” The iconic voice of Tony Stark was easy to recognise. “Someone else has been killed and another building has been partially blown up. Let me get straight to the point, here: are you getting any psychic vibes around this guy?”

“Hm...” You pretended to ponder for a moment. “I'm afraid not. The spirits tend to be more forthcoming with information when I can see the subject.”

“Right,” he muttered- and, goodness, was that exasperation back in his tone? Rude. “How about you come to the scene? I'll send Happy out to get you.”

“That sounds wonderful. I'll keep an eye out for the limo.” You stood up, grabbing a jacket and briefly smelling it before nodding and pulling it on as best you could with the phone in your hand. “Does it come with a mini-bar? I must insist that my martini is dry, with only one olive that was plucked from the lowest branch of the tree by a person under five feet tall. Any taller and my allergies act up - it's quite unfortunate, really.”

“I think you and me would be good friends if we didn't only meet when a murder has occurred,” Tony chuckled under his breath.

The vehicle that picked you up was not, in fact, a limousine, although it definitely looked more expensive than your entire existence. You slipped into the back seat after realising no-one was about to open your door for you, and you took a moment to just appreciate the impossibly comfortable interior. Happy, the diver, caught your eye in the mirror, and you grinned widely, running your hands along every surface to really appreciate the luxury.

“You know, Happy, I've always known I was born into the wrong family. I'm meant for immense riches and fancy clothes, going to galas to schmooze with other rich people, and marrying a beautiful, rich woman upon who... _whom_ I would be able to dote upon. Yes, a very good life it would be,” you sighed contentedly, slipping down in your seat.

“Great. Put your seatbelt on,” Happy responded shortly, casting his unimpressed gaze towards the road.

As it turns out, Happy wasn't all that happy. Who knew?

*

It was a short walk from the fancy car to the area of the incident.

You stared up at the scene of destruction with what you hoped was a mystical expression. The building looked as if it used to be some kind of two-floor convenience store that had been converted into flats at some point. Most of the front half had been totally obliterated after what you'd learnt was a string of detonations had been set off. Rubble sprawled across the street like a careless cat and the air smelt distinctly of burnt plastic. A few Avengers were there; you spotted the Captain and his best friend, Bucky, stepping over the debris and going as far inside the unstable building as they dared, clearly trying to glean something from the scorched scene.

Tony and Natasha were flanking you. Her gaze on you was as intense as ever. You definitely wanted to flaunt your observational skills and impress the lovely lady - maybe she'd even agree to a date with you? The thought alone had you practically bouncing on your toes as you sent a charming smile her way.

If you weren't such a talented noticer-of-details, you would've totally missed the way her eyebrow twitched slightly. You hoped it was a positive response.

A deep breath caused you to start choking as particulates fluttered into your lungs, and as you were doubled-over coughing painfully the paramedics wheeled the body past on a gurney. Your sharp, hawklike eyes skimmed over it, picking out subtle things that many lesser beings would've undoubtedly skipped across. But to you, the upturned collar of the singed jacket told a whole story. On the person's neck, just barely visible, was some kind of tattoo. It looked like a complicated three dimensional shape.

“Getting anything, _psychic?_ ” The way Natasha practically spat your new title should've been intimidating, but it only spurred you to work this whole thing out so she would have to admit that you were an incredible individual.

“There's-” You cleared your throat a few times, pounding a fist against your chest to try and clear your airways, “there are definitely some cryptic answers to be found, if one is intelligent enough to seek and comprehend them.”

Tony groaned with a fantastically masterful roll of the eyes. “Come on, I was rooting for you!”

“Conveniently enough,” you shot a glare at him, “I am most definitely aware of the way in which I must begin unravelling the universe's mysteries. Give me some room, I must address the spirits!”

You raised a hand to your head, middle finger curved just enough to brush against your temple as you closed your eyes with a frown. After a few moments of incomprehensible mumbling, you blinked over at the wreckage, approaching it with light, dancing footsteps, easily prancing over broken bricks and entering the worst of the mess. Steve and Bucky paused in their search to watch you with obvious curiosity.

Oh, there was nothing better than owning everyone's attention: you _thrived_ in the spotlight.

You turned back around, memorising important glimpses of the wreckage in what seemed to be an innocuous move. The hand by your ear began to tremble, and you lowered it with an expression of alarm, letting it dart forwards and pull you along like an overexcited dog. You squirmed and made a big show of trying to pull it back, only to stop in front of a surprised cop who was holding some files you knew were important.

“I think the spirits wish for me to investigate these,” you proclaimed with an authoritative nod, slipping folders from her grasp and twirling backwards, letting some of the papers slip loose and cascade to the ground. “Everyone, hush! _You_ \- give me your doughnut. Spiritual work makes me peckish.”

The tasty treat was placed in your palm, a bite mark removed from the outside edge. You inhaled sharply as you raised the powdered ring to your eye, blinking owlishly as you surveyed your surroundings before staring back at the pages at your feet.

“I have been temporarily blessed with the vision. Everyone, thank the spirits for their graciousness and generosity!” There was a vague, bewildered mumble of thanks amongst the crowd. “I shall use it wisely to solve this unsolvable case... Oh, it's all coming together now!”

Pictures of evidence from the previous crime scenes had scattered in the dust below. On every body, you noticed a hint of a tattoo poking out from beneath clothes, all with similar, complicated designs to the one you had seen on the most recent victim. Based on the sunlight in the images and the clocks in some of the photos, they were all found at around the same time, which seemed oddly coincidental. You blinked again, noticing something else.

“The... the phones. They...” You paused, trying to work out how to word it in a ethereal manner. “The spirits are informing me that the killer was the one who first called the police, every time. How? And why?”

A random officer shook their head; you turned to gaze at them with a distant look of desperation. “All the voices were different and with different caller ID's. It's unlikely that-”

“No, it makes sense,” Natasha cut in. “However, it was the victim's voices. These deaths might all be part of some sacrificial suicide.”

You tilted your head at her, utterly enraptured by the sly beauty with the sexy brains. It took a few moments for you to snap out of your daze, and only a few more to survey the evidence you'd compiled in your mind. Her theory would've held up if the calls had been made from the victim's phones, but you'd noticed that the explosion was triggered by a burner phone, the remains of which were still amongst the wreck.

“I'm seeing... another phone. A mobile. Small and clunky... nothing like the sleek Stark tech I wish I could afford. Captain!” You called over to him, raising a hand in a decisive point, the other still holding the doughnut. “I can sense its presence in your area. Slide to the left!”

The super-soldier did as he was told, skimming his boots over the debris.

“Slide to the right!”

He moved back into his original position with a look of doubt. Tony was trying to hide his snickers.

“The spirits inform me you should next perform one hop, and then cha-cha real smooth. They speak in cryptic tongues, I'm afraid.” You shook your head with a despondent sigh, only to catch a glimpse of Natasha's expression and hastily amend your jest. “Oh, wait, there's more... you must... look down. Near the wall. Below the window... yes, there it is!”

He pinched the charred remains of the device between his gloved fingers. Someone hastily rushed over to bag the evidence and take it away from the area. You dared another glance at the enigmatic assassin, who had definitely quirked an eyebrow up at your discovery.

“Nice job, psychic. Anything else you can give us?” Tony patted you on the shoulder, a relieved look dancing across his handsome features.

“It's a possibility,” you began, frowning. “But... it's a little blurry. I need to return to my home and recharge my spiritual juices.”

*

You may have forgotten to immediately do your research due to seeing some dodgy food being sold by a street vendor. The unknown of whatever that guy was offering you was too enticing to resist, and it may have led to terrible stomach pains, but the food tasted great at the time and you had no regrets.

At least, you didn't until you woke up the next morning, feeling half-dead and groaning at the loud ringing of your phone. You glanced at the caller and realised who was trying to get in touch with you, and you fumbled to grab the device, dropping it twice and falling out of bed before managing to answer.

“Y'ello?” You mumbled groggily, rubbing at your eyes.

“You sound tired. Late night of spiritual research?” Tony's tone was amused, and, dare you say, slightly sympathetic.

“Wha...” You leapt up from the floor, remembering too late what you were supposed to be doing. “If you must know, I was just meditating to align my... chakras and get in touch with my inner chi.”

“Right,” he chuckled, “well, have the spirits offered anything useful? Another body showed up.”

“They...” You were stumbling through your flat, tripping over abandoned clothes and bumping into furniture, until you finally sat down at your computer and aggressively turned it on. “I think it took a lot out of them, yesterday. They're not used to so much attention. It would also be nice if you told your team to be more courteous with them: they might be more forthcoming to those with manners.”

“I see. Well, if you're free, Happy will pick you up and take you here. Be ready in fifteen.”

You let out a loud whine of frustration after he hung up. Still, you were notoriously good under pressure, and you doubted Happy would be too miffed about waiting a few minutes longer as you researched the tattoos.

*

Another body had shown up, making the total deaths add up to six. This time, you were a little more prepared, thanks to your hasty Google searches beforehand. Happy had grumpily inquired why you were late, but the moment you started to dramatically regale your tale of toiletry terror from the previous night, he seemed pretty adamant to let the explanation remain unsaid. You hadn't a clue why.

You'd caught a cheeky glimpse of the body before they zipped it up in a black bag, but of course, no-one needed to know your perfectly earthly methods of deduction as you raised a hand to your temple and called for silence. “I'm getting a message! The ethereal realm is offering me great knowledge in order to solve this puzzling case for you...”

“Would it be possible for the ethereal realm to hurry up?” Natasha asked with a frown of immense doubt - one that you were determined to counter with your performance.

“Only for you, Tasha.” You winked at her flirtatiously, delighted by the faint curve of her lips that was only visible for a moment before her expression blanked once more. “Wait... Wait for it... Romantic liquids!” You wrinkled your nose, shaking your head. “No... No, that's not right. Sexual gases? Oh, god- no, absolutely not...”

Tony edged his sunglasses down his nose to peer at you. “Do you mean... Platonic solids?”

You whirled around to face him with fingers pointed in elation. “Yes! That's it! You truly are a genius, Stark.”

“The tattoos on the body,” Natasha mused with a nod towards you. “They're of the platonic solids, right?”

The billionaire's face lit up and he raised his wrist, tapping his watch with a finger, his palm cupping a small, projected screen that showcased the images of the cadavers. “The first one was a dodecahedron. The second, a cube. Then, an octahedron, an icosahedron, and another cube.” He motioned with a hand for the paramedics to bring the body over for examination. “And... another octahedron.”

You observed impatiently as the pair muttered theories to one another for a few minutes. Natasha finally acknowledged your insistent gaze with an amicable blink and a slight tilt of the head. Tony barely took any notice, too busy asking his AI to run algorithms to examine the shapes and their order.

She glanced you up and down, noting your fidgeting movements and barely suppressed excitement. “Anything else, psychic?”

“Letters,” you blurted mindlessly before clearing your throat and trying to regain your composure. “I'm sensing that, um, the victims had other tattoos.”

“Yeah, but there doesn't seem to be any correlation. This one has a rose, this one has angel wings, a cracked skull...” Tony trailed off, squinting at the designs.

You skimmed over the evidence, and soon your eyes settled on what you had been searching for. The hand still by your head finally dropped, and you let it swoop and flutter like a falling piece of paper before settling in a point at a subtle section of the rose tattoo.

“FRIDAY, enhance that,” he called, watching as the image grew to fit the projection. “I'm not seeing anyth-”

“You're right,” Natasha stared at you with something akin to wonder. “There's two characters. μα. It's Greek.”

“FRI, translate it.” Tony asked with growing interest.

“μα translates to _however_ in English,” his AI responded coolly. “I've taken the liberty of examining the other tattoos for you, boss. The letters make the word μαριονέ, which doesn't seem to have a direct translation.”

“Which means...” Tony trailed off, looking unsettled.

“Either FRIDAY made a mistake, or there are going to be more victims,” Natasha stated, crossing her arms.

You leaned forwards on your toes, meekly raising your hand as if to answer a question in class. “Anyone else hoping it's the first option?”

*

Much to your disappointment, there was another murder; on the plus side, you got to chat up Tasha again, but on the down side...

“Well, there's our killer,” Tony muttered as he stared down at the corpse.

The face was unmistakably the bad guy's. They had a rounded jaw with almond-shaped eyes, ones that were half-open and gazing off towards a wall. It was an unsettling sight, and you tried to ease some of the tension by cracking some jokes and keeping it light. You padded around the room, examining the evidence as it was being marked by the cops. The victim was on the floor in their living room, curtains closed and lights off, with not a single speck of blood in sight.

A pen was on the table in the dining room, faint lines in the soft wood to indicate something had been written there, but it was too subtle for even you to work out what it said. In another room, there was a tattoo gun and templates of the designs on the bodies. The lower floor of the house smelt a little like paint which made you wrinkle your nose.

You paused in your steps, noticing a small mark, barely even noticeable. It was a tiny chunk of soil, still moist, that had smeared on the lower corner of the sofa. The dirt itself didn't reveal any clues, but the fact that you'd definitely seen the victim's shoes looking totally clean immediately invoked suspicion.

“The victim has deadly amounts of tetradotoxin in their system,” FRIDAY informed any listeners helpfully after a scan of the body.

“What's that?” You inquired, glancing up from your discovery.

“It's a powerful neurotoxin, found in some species of amphibians and fish, like a puffer fish,” Tasha clarified for you. “It takes about six hours to reach full effect, where the victim is entirely immobile and vital organs become paralysed and shut down, leading to death.”

“I know you were an assassin and everything, but the fact that you just... _know that,_ off the top of your head, is both extremely terrifying and a little arousing,” you admitted with a sly smile, one that she returned almost immediately, her red lips curving in an effortlessly attractive manner.

Tony raised his eyebrows, his expression one of realisation as he looked between the two of you. “Oh, so  _that's_ why you're so keen to help out on this case, because you  _li_ -”

She shot him a look more lethal than the poison you were discussing. He hastily backed up with a nervous laugh, rapidly turning to flee under the pretence of investigating another room.

“It doesn't make much sense, though: murder six people, then kill yourself?” Tasha motioned to the cadaver, inadvertently drawing you closer. “There aren't any characters on the body, but there is a tattoo of a tetrahedron.”

You frowned, squinting at the body again, raking your gaze over the shape on the victim's forehead. The skin around it was still red and irritated, indicating it was a recent addition.

“How is the tet- t- uh, the poison-thing applied?” You asked, gazing up at the beauty from where you were crouched next to the corpse.

“It can be inhaled, ingested or seep into the bloodstream via broken skin: either way, it's deadly.” She stared down at you for a moment longer than necessary before looking to the tattoo, seemingly reaching the same conclusion as you. “It could've been administered with the tattoo.”

“That's what the spirits are insisting,” you acknowledged absentmindedly, now far more interested with the person's eyes.

Tasha had told you that the toxin took about six hours. The tattoo definitely couldn't have been done by the victim, since it was on their forehead and extremely neat, and because the dirt on the sofa was still damp, that indicated someone had visited recently. You briefly closed your eyes to imagine the scene.

The victim lays still as a stranger tattoos the tetrahedron on their skin. They're a willing participant at the time, and they return home after the inking. After a while, they begin to feel numb and have difficulty moving, which is when they realise that something is wrong. They know they've been betrayed and can't do anything about it, except maybe... write a note at the table. Their hands are unsteady, so they press too hard, denting the wood a little. It will all be for nothing if the unknown person discovers the illuminating letter, so they stand shakily, moving into the living room. They want the precious paper to be discovered by the right people, so they hide it.

Later, the traitor arrives to check up on the victim, stepping too close to the sofa and dislodging some dirt without noticing. The victim is already almost completely paralysed, frozen on the carpet in front of the sofa, but they're still vaguely aware. The traitor checks that nothing incriminating is in the house before they leave, and the victim uses their last bit of movement to move their eyes towards something important.

You stood up suddenly, getting a dizzying rush to your head that you powered through in order to approach the wall. There was a skirting board, and you knelt down in front of it, getting a stronger whiff of the unpleasant paint-smell. You lightly pressed a fingertip against the wood, glancing it up and down for any hints before grabbing it as best you could and sliding it to the side. A little cubbyhole was revealed behind a section of the wood, inside which there was a note, just like you had expected. Tasha was by your side in an instant, giving you an appraising smile that gave you butterflies, before she reached in and picked it up in her gloved hands.

“τα,” she muttered upon reading the main text.

You recalled FRIDAY's previous pronunciation of the other letters and cobbled together the word. “μαριονέτα. What does it mean?”

“Puppet,” she whispered, glancing sideways at you with furrowed brows.

Her translation confirmed your suspicion that there was someone else, and this case was far from closed. You lightly tugged at her glove to pull her hand closer to you, giving you a better view of the paper as you leaned closer. The scent of her sweet perfume took you off guard for a second and the subtle warmth of her shoulder against yours made it a bit more difficult to concentrate on reading. It was hastily scribbled with shaky lines, but there was a sketch of a bed with an arrow pointed underneath the frame.

You and Tasha exchanged a look before simultaneously standing up and making your way towards the bedroom.

You hoped it wasn't the only time in your life that would happen...

She lithely dropped into a crouch, peering under the bed for a second before grasping the side of the mattress and lifting it up. There was a small square cut out of it, allowing room for a hidden space to hide a small phone, similar to the burner at the other crime scene. She grabbed it with one hand and lowered the mattress back down with the other, and you couldn't help but notice the muscles in her arms flexing with the movement. After a few moments of peering and poking, she tapped on the screen and an audio file started to play.

“My name is Mimic,” they said in an average voice, a huff of breath crackling over the speaker - but then their voice changed; a higher pitch, a smoother tone. “My name is Mimic.” And again it changed entirely, becoming masculine and hoarse. “My name is Mimic.”

You got the picture after the fifth time they repeated the same phrase. If it wasn't for their moniker, you would've just presumed there were multiple people in the room at the time of the recording. You recalled the unsolved mystery of the killer calling in the murders with the victims' voices, and suddenly it made a lot more sense.

“I didn't know. I didn't know. She made me. She made me. I can't say, I can't-” The words were panicked, rushed, coming out in a scared whisper that hissed against the mic, their voice warping and changing between impressions with every syllable. There was a pause, punctuated with soft, sobbing whimpers. “Polonium. Chemicals. Bombs. Polonium... be careful, be careful.”

The recording ended, and things suddenly seemed too quiet.

“Polonium?” Tony stepped into the room, worry creasing his face. “That's... really dangerous. It's highly toxic, and the radioactivity breaks down the body's tissue; not to mention the lethal dose is tiny. But... it's really difficult to make, and expensive because of that. The biggest quantities are made in nuclear plants, mainly in Russia.”

“And it sounds like it's been made into a bomb. Why was that their main objective? Do they just want to cause widespread harm?” Natasha added, her eyes darting nervously across the floor as her fingers tightened around the phone and the paper.

“They wouldn't have made this such an elaborate plan, just to kill people,” you mused lowly, any joking traces wiped from your face, which was a rare occasion. “There are clues... It's too complicated for an average murder.”

“We need to find out where the bombs are and evacuate the areas.” Tony turned to you, thinly-veiled desperation laced in his tone. “Are you getting any vibes that could help us?”

Your brain rapidly kicked into overdrive as your eyes scanned the room for anything you might've missed. The only thing that was yet unknown was the purpose of the platonic solids tattoos, if they even had one- for all you knew, it could've just represented who was a part of this freaky cult. You blinked suddenly, a possibility crossing your mind and sending you practically sprinting towards the dining room, letting the others follow at a more leisurely pace.

There were lines dented in the wood of the table, yes, but it _wasn't_ from writing the note: the letters weren't gouged deep enough in the paper. You hurriedly traced a fingertip over the faint dips, piecing together the shape of a tetrahedron. A clumsy _4_ was etched out in the centre of the diagram, sparking a hypothesis in your mind as you counted the vertices of the shape again: _four._ You briefly closed your eyes, conjuring up the order of the other shapes and counting their vertices.

20, 8, 6, 12, 8, 6, 4.

The numbers had to mean something, surely. They wouldn't have gone to the effort of leaving a clue if it meant nothing. You mixed the numbers around, adding them up, multiplying, messing with them in any way you could think of to try to come up with an explanation before Tony and Tasha entered the room. The mental recreation of the house blurred through your brain as you rechecked everything, glancing over useless clothes, the brand of shampoo they used, the buttons most used on the TV remote, the dishes in the sink, the bookcase in the bedroom-

The bookcase. In the bedroom. You noticed something thin and folded lying across the top of the books on one shelf. It illuminated like a holy grail as the pieces of the puzzle finally slotted together.

Tony glanced nervously around the room you had bolted for like a startled rabbit. “What was th-”

“208, 612, 864,” you blurted out, hand at your temple as you scrunched up your face, as if struggling with the message that had been thrust upon you.

“...what?”

“Area codes.” Tasha caught on quickly, looking to you for confirmation. “Idaho, Minnesota, and South Carolina.”

“And that's where the bombs are?” He asked urgently, barely waiting for your nod. “FRIDAY, send out drones to scan those states for polonium. Get in contact with the local government and tell them to-”

His voice grew fainter as he rushed from the room, still spewing rapid instructions. Tasha gazed at you, eyebrows drawing together as she glanced down at the paper. She dropped the page and the phone onto the bed, pulling off her gloves and slipping them into the back pocket of her black jeans.

“That still leaves us with the issue of where the actual mastermind is. The message mentioned 'she,' but that hardly narrows it down...” She mumbled, her words followed by a huff of frustration and a hand tugging at her cropped hair.

You'd never seen her so expressive, and it worried you. Her stress was palpable, although justified: you remembered what happened with the Accords after various disasters. Why were there always bombs involved, anyway?

She deserved a break from all of this chaos. Preferably, a holiday on a couples retreat with you, somewhere on a nice, tropical island. Not that you could afford that, but perhaps you could just bill Tony for the expenses...

“I know you're not psychic, but you are good at what you do.” Tasha's face smoothed out, blanking of any emotion besides determination.

You shook your head innocently, offering an angelic smile. “Have some faith, Tasha. The spirits are more forthcoming when there are believers present.”

“Right, I don't care. We need to find this guy. Do you have any hunches about where she might be, spiritual or otherwise?” She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing just enough to get across her concealed desperation.

There was no way you were letting down such a gorgeous, powerful, knowledgable, _terrifying_ woman - especially not when she was looking at you like _that_. You automatically raised your hand to your temple, combing through anything that might be of use to you. Polonium was rare and expensive, only made under certain conditions. Mimic killed and tattooed all the victims in New York, but the unknown person was close to Mimic when they died. The bombs were spread across America in a zig-zag. How were you supposed to find someone from random information like that?! There were no hints whatsoever to the specific location.

Wait- _hints..._

You mentally replayed the message left by Mimic. _Chemicals,_ they said, and yet they specified polonium. There were more things in the bombs. _I can't say._ Why? Was _she_ stopping them? _She made me._ What if- what if _she_ literally _made_ Mimic what they were? Maybe there was some combination of chemicals and polonium that altered genes and gave people otherworldly powers? In which case... Maybe that's how _she_ stopped Mimic from revealing too much: it was _her_ power.

And since Mimic seemed far from mentally stable, it wasn't a reach to presume something was wrong with _her_ , too.

So, _she_ was rich, had access to polonium and other chemicals, and was possibly-maybe-perhaps centred in America.

You dragged yourself from your thoughts, blinking at Tasha. “Are there any new prosperous science facilities in the US?”

She glanced in the direction Tony went, obviously considering asking the expert, but she quickly looked back at you with raised eyebrows and a short nod. “Yeah, one opened fairly recently in Washington. Summers Institute of Science, named after the founder: Lori Summers.” Your curiosity must've been blatant in your expression, because she was quick to elaborate; “Actually... I've heard she's been reclusive, lately. Short-tempered, too. It's weird, because people said she used to be warm and approachable up until August of last year. Which was...”

“Just before the murders started,” you whispered lowly, “it must be her.”

“Are you certain?” Her gaze was focused and intense, the hand on your shoulder tensing until her fingers dug into your skin.

You hesitated. “I'm certain. The spirits say it's her.”

*

In hindsight, perhaps you should've listened to Tasha and gone home to wait for a proper group to be dispatched to the location, but you just couldn't help yourself when you caught sight of the scouting team setting off, and you slipped, unseen, into the back of one of their vehicles. You were gone before they even knew anyone was there, and you set your sights on the looming building. Since it was night, it was a bit of a pain to sneak around because most of the lights had been switched off to save energy. At one point, something squeaked indignantly under your foot when you accidentally stepped on it.

Due to the helpful signs, you managed to navigate your way through the corridors and find Lori Summers' office. A rectangle of yellow light oozed from underneath the door, spilling across the flooring and beckoning you closer until you noticed some voices from within the room. Holding your breath, you inched as close as you dared and listened in to the conversation.

“-ve been sent out over the states. They're obviously searching for the explosives. I told you the hints were going to ruin us!” The voice was hoarse, trembling with either fear or anger and occasionally rising to a squeak.

“The whole point is to lure them in, make them think they've won,” a female spoke, one you presumed belonged to Lori as it had just the right amount of insanity laced within every word. “Then just as they're thinking about celebrating- _boom!_ ” She gave a wheezy, cackling laugh that made you shiver. “Everything will be gone. The people will scream as the polonium corrodes their bodies, only to be rebuilt with power rivalling the Avengers themselves. And when everyone looks for a guide, I will be there, and they will have no choice but to listen and obey.”

“But the psychic...” The person whined; you perked up eagerly to see what they had to say. “I think the Avengers will know who masterminded all of this. It was dangerous enough to visit that _Mimic_ , yet you still took that risk. If the psychic so easily uncovered the bomb plot, who's to say we're safe he-”

“Oh, be quiet,” Lori snapped; the person let out a vague rasp, followed by the sound of scrabbling footsteps. “They have no idea what they're up against. There is nothing linking me to the explosives.” Her tone was stern, almost psychotic. “Just because the supposed _psychic_ worked things out faster than we were expecting, doesn't mean we have to go into hiding. Imagine the world we're going to create: a world where everyone has powers. We won't need the Avengers, which means they won't destroy our planet every time they argue. Everyone will be equal, and humans on Earth will be the most advanced civilisation in the entire galaxy.”

There was a pause. She was breathing heavily after her cliché, passionate speech about world domination. The other person was still totally silent. You heard a faint click, followed by a strangled whimper.

“Shame you won't be there to see it,” she said lowly, and a muted gunshot rang out in the room, followed by a fleshy thud.

You winced, rapidly backing up and rushing away. The door creaked open just as you dashed around a corner, trying to keep your ragged breathing quiet to avoid detection. You kept creeping quickly through the corridors, recalling your entry route. After a few more minutes of light jogging, you decided to take a break, slumping against the wall and collecting your thoughts.

You had successfully infiltrated the institute without being spotted by the scouts or the people on campus, confirmed that Lori was behind it all, and uncovered the perpetrator's motive. The timing or location may not have been ideal, but there was no better way to celebrate a small victory than an impromptu one-person dance party. All the sneaking around made you feel like an awesome spy in an action movie, and you couldn't help but quietly cheer to yourself, tapping your toes against the polished floor and revelling in your coolness... until you realised that the corridor was no longer empty.

Slowly, you turned around. Your stomach dropped, but you tried for a wobbly smile anyway.

Lori glared at you. “The psychic. How did you find me?”

“Well, put in the simplest terms I can manage, there were both tangible and metaphysical clues that guided me here on this spiritual journey,” you explained with an airy wave, keeping a mystic facade even as you felt like you were going to pee at any second. “You know, I really feel like I've found myself here. The windows really speak to me, teaching my soul about the beauty of openness and transparency. I never knew I could share so much energy with a building, but I suppose that was the point of my pilgrimage. However, if you don't mind, I must return home to share my discoveries with my students. They must miss m-”

“Silence. Follow me.” She was practically growling at this point, but when you opened your mouth to make a snarky comment, no noise came out.

You wanted to back up and sprint away from this crazy lady, but your body didn't seem to want to listen to you as you trailed behind her, moving stiffly and stepping clumsily. She didn't even need to glance over her shoulder to check on you as she dragged you through the building, going down too many stairs to count until you reached... Oh. The basement. _Wonderful._

Lori snatched a plastic chair from a stack against the gritty wall, throwing it to the floor with a clatter. “Sit down. Do not get up.”

Your body followed her commands, despite you desperately wanting to just grab the chair and smash it over her head so you could flee. Your spine was straight, leaning slightly against the uncomfortable backrest, and your feet were flat against the concrete. She watched with lips pulled back in a ferocious imitation of a smile, one that made your insides twist and your hopes of escape wilt within your chest.

“They'll never find you, _psychic_ , which means they'll never find _me_ , which _means_ ,” her voice rose suddenly, and you flinched as she shoved her face horribly close to yours. “They'll _never_ be able to defuse the bombs, because only _I_ can do that.” She slipped a small control unit from her bra, causing you to wrinkle your nose in disgust. “If anyone so much as _touches_ the explosives, they will detonate. This remote is the one thing in this entire galaxy that can prevent my plans.”

Lori tucked it back between her wrinkly bosoms, finally straightening up and getting out of your personal space bubble. She gave another sharp grin, turning around and stepping towards the staircase.

“Have fun spending the rest of your life down here. It was nice meeting you.”

The door closed behind her. You wanted to scream.

Yeah, you _really_ wished you had listened to Tasha.

*

It felt like you were trapped down there for an eternity, desperately trying to occupy your hyperactive mind by counting the bricks in the wall and trace the pipes that ran along the ceiling with your eyes. Being stuck in one place for so long with no choice in the matter was never good for your brain or body, both of which begged for the great outdoors to sprint around or at least a cosy bed with a TV nearby so you wouldn't spontaneously combust with boredom. After another aeon passed, you decided to dissect Lori's orders: _sit down, don't get up._

A sly smirk danced on your lips as you glanced down at your hands as you raised them from your lap, realising it was never specified _how_ you should sit. You shifted your legs, wincing at the sudden rush of feeling that came from staying in one position for too long. Even though you attempted to further circumvent the rules further by trying to sit down on another chair, your backside stayed firmly stuck against the seat and kept you in place.

You sighed internally, but your determination to escape and save the world overrode the exasperation at the effort it would take to get out of this sticky situation, and you awkwardly grabbed onto the edges of the seat, moving to stand in an awkward squat as you lifted the chair with your body. It looked utterly ridiculous as you hobbled towards the door like a hunchback, so you thanked your lucky stars that no-one was around to see your embarrassment- doubly so when you accidentally tripped and fell on your face, causing a blinding pain to throb in your nose and blood to stream down your face.

The psychotic woman had so much faith in her power that she hadn't even bothered to lock the door, leaving you free to pull it open and face the daunting task ahead of you: stairs. You climbed them as quickly as you were able, finally escaping the basement and emerging in a corridor. It surprised you to find that daylight shone through the windows, meaning you had been in that dark room for a fair few hours, and you didn't doubt that someone had noticed your disappearance by now.

From here, you were unsure where to go. There was the possibility of heading back to Lori's office, but the danger of her words controlling you could lead to terrible things; however, you really needed to rescue that poor remote from her wrinkly cleavage before the bombs were discovered and anyone attempted to defuse them. Suddenly, being a hero seemed a lot less glorious and a whole lot more stressful.

You grimaced, casting your eyes towards the ceiling with irritation as you made your stupid, unsafe choice, already waddling down the corridor and leaving droplets of blood in your wake. Even if you had been a total zombie while following her, you could recall the route easily and retraced your steps, slightly confused by the distinct lack of people in the facility. At the sound of footsteps, you hastily tried to flatten yourself against a wall before remembering the four-legged predicament stuck to your ass and instead just sitting down and trying to look casual.

The strangers rounded the corner, and you immediately lit up with joy.

Tasha's eyes widened minutely as she spotted you. “What the hell happened?”

You automatically opened your mouth with the intention of spinning a dramatic tale that would smooth the concern from her face, but you were quick to realise the issue and instead pursed your lips. Her gaze flitted across your face as she stepped closer to you, dropping onto one knee to examine your injury with a frown that only deepened as you stayed silent.

“Are you okay?” She spoke more slowly and clearly, turning your head for you and running her fingers lightly over your scalp, presumably searching for some kind of fatal head injury that could explain why you weren't talking. “Can you say something for me, psychic?”

You shook your head, keeping a light expression on your face so she knew the situation wasn't too serious. It didn't seem to work as her worry only heightened, and the amount of emotion in her expression was actually becoming unnerving.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She inquired, gaining another shake of the head. “Is it safe here?”

You hesitated, raising a hand to tilt it side to side in a so-so gesture.

“We called you, but you didn't answer your phone. I was hoping that you were doing something ordinary, and yet here you are. Do you know what we're up against?” A nod. “Did you have a run-in with Summers?” Another nod, with alarmed eyes. “Did she do this to you?” You nodded again. “Is she behind the plot?” You nodded so enthusiastically it hurt your nose.

There must be a way to communicate with her, you had so much to share-

“Yeah, Stark, we found the psychic. Summers did something,” she informed, raising a hand to her earpiece. “Good, we'll try to sort things out here. How long will it take? Okay.” She noticed your curious expression and explained, “the drones found the bombs. The bomb squad are on their way to defuse them now.”

Panic struck you, and you shook your head so fast the room spun. She looked alarmed, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder in a way she seemed fond of doing.

“You know something?” Nod. “We shouldn't defuse the bombs?” A pause, then a shake. “Wait... no, we shouldn't, or no, we should?”

You squinted at her before raising one finger, indicating option one. She glanced to the side, gazing at the floor with her brows drawn together in contemplation.

“Stark, can you hold off on the bomb squad for a bit? Something isn't right. Be cautious.” She stood up, offering you a hand that you desperately wanted to take even though you knew it was pointless.

You swallowed your embarrassment and grabbed the chair again, hoisting it up and trying to avoid eye contact with your crush. Every step was humiliating, and you were uncomfortably aware of everyone in the group watching your every move, but you had an idea that could save the operation. After a few paces, Tasha was finally spurred into motion and joined you by your side, followed by the rest of the tac team. You stopped in front of a door and sat back down to open it before heading inside like a mutant tortoise, barely sparing a second to glance around and make sure the room was empty before heading to a row of drawers and pulling them open. It didn't take long for you to find what you were looking for, raising the silencing earplugs in your palm and offering them to Tasha.

She was about to speak but stopped herself, instead turning and grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, which she handed to you. Your eyes lit up and you immediately slammed it down onto a nearby desk, hastily scribbling away and noting down everything of importance as quickly as you could before sliding it over to her.

“ _Summers has the power to control you with words. It might stop her if you can't hear her,_ ” Tasha read out, uncurling her fingers from the earplugs with a look of understanding. “Is that why you can't talk or stand up?” You nodded, a tired smile of relief playing on your lips. “ _Don't defuse the bombs. They will explode if you try. She made some kind of mutation formula out of polonium and other chemicals which will cause people to gain powers like her and Mimic. The remote for the bombs is in her bra._ ” She paused, gazing at you questioningly for a moment. “ _P.S. You look cute in that outfit... Smiley face._ ” Tasha snorted quietly, flashing a smile. “Thank you.”

You grinned back at her, pocketing the pen in case you needed it later. She stared at you for another second before darting off to find something else, returning to your side a few seconds later with some elastic cords and a saw. You raised a nervous eyebrow and scooted away, but she crouched down, starting to cut away at the chair legs, and you realised what she was doing. It only took a few more minutes for the remaining seat of the chair to be kept against your body with the ropes, allowing you to stand freely, which you were sure to rejoice in. You wrapped your arms around her in a quick hug, pulling away before she could reciprocate.

The team headed off, ears safely plugged, with you guiding them towards Lori's office, which still had the door closed. A couple of agents stepped forward, pressing some weird gadgets against the door before slowly pushing it open, allowing all of you to creep inside. Tasha's glare hadn't been enough to keep you out, although you had a feeling she was also quite content to keep you in her sight to make sure you didn't get in any more trouble. You kept to the back, allowing the pros to sweep the room in near-total silence, motioning to one another in a code you vaguely understood.

There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary; it just looked like an average office, with a desk, sleek flooring, some shelves and a bookcase. You squinted at the last thing you noticed, approaching it with caution and almost hoping your hunch _wasn't_ correct as you slowly reached out to grab and pull at one of the books. Machinery whirred to life, vibrating in your fingertips, causing you to step back as the bookcase slid aside, revealing a secret room because _apparently_ world domination wasn't cliché enough on it's own, and she needed to have all the calling cards of a typical supervillain. Still, although you wouldn't admit it, the discovery _was_ pretty cool.

Tasha was quick to take point and slip inside, and you trotted after her like a faithful poodle. You took in the blueprints and formulas pinned to the walls and the research papers scattered messily across every available surface: all of it seemed to detail previous experiments. There were lots of numbers around that caught your eye, as well as sketched designs of the bombs. It was about as cliché a lair as you could get, with vials filled with unknown substances and dim lamps casting peculiar shadows and-

You jolted to a stop, lightly tugging on Tasha's arm to make her to the same. The rest of the team slowed up and stared around them, keeping on alert. She glanced at you before she froze up, realisation washing over her features. There was an open doorway, and on the floor were some faint, dusty footprints, only noticeable if you looked closely enough.

The ex-assassin rippled back into high stealth mode, slowing her breathing and tapping at a band on her wrist until a tiny surveillance drone lifted up, floating smoothly into the other room. She stared at the tiny screen and you dared a peek over her shoulder, taking in the layout of the room and the woman who stood in the middle of it, tinkering with some small object on a desk. Everything being totally silent was starting to unnerve you, so it was almost a relief when you heard something shatter loudly behind you. You whirled around to stare in disbelief at the agent who had knocked over a glass beaker, and for a moment you felt like laughing at the fact that this professional, covert, intensely-trained agent had been the one to mess up instead of you, the hyperactive, eccentric idiot who was literally faking being a psychic to impress a girl.

But then you realised the severity and your face creased into a frown. It didn't take a genius to realise the beaker was previously next to the wall, and couldn't have fallen without any interference. You made a split-second decision, shoving Tasha towards a pile of boxes and hastily motioning for the agents to hide as well. Not a second later, Lori stormed into the room, her eyes first falling on the broken glass that glittered at your feet before trailing up your form, her expression becoming more and more venomous as she recognised you. You played up the part of the idiot, glancing down at the mess before looking up at her with a big, goofy smile and an awkward shrug.

She was clearly speaking, but your lip-reading skills were sub-par at best. You tilted your head, trying to work out whether she said _cow_ or _now_ , and what on Earth _pikachu_ had to do with it. She seemed to raise her voice, but it still wasn't enough to get through the earplugs, and she seemed to finally realise that as she stomped closer. You hastily pulled them out and shoved them in your pocket, hoping things would go along with your ridiculous plan.

“Tell me how you got out,” she snapped, pressing a hand to your chest and shoving you backwards.

You noted that she never said _tell the truth_ , so you did what you were best at: spewing utter nonsense. “Oh, wow, that's _such_ a relief to be able to talk again. I have _so much_ knowledge to share with the world, and it would truly be a great tragedy if it was lost in such an upsetting manner. Sorry, what was the question again? I'm just so excited that I'm finally able to communicate with both the spiritual and physical worlds once again, but I must admit that it has been rather enlightening to experience the life of someone who is unable to speak, so I suppose I must thank you for the interesting-”

She was practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid raccoon, continuing to advance on you while you were smart enough to back up.“The basement. How did you escape?”

“That's simple really; there were some benevolent spirits in the area who noticed my plight, and since I've dedicated my life to offering my help to the supernatural, they were more than willing to guide me from the room and bring me here. Although, I wasn't really sure why they brought me to the set of Frankenstein, but then you showed up and _huh_ , this actually makes a lot more sense.” You made a big show of looking around the room, wincing as your back thudded against the hard wall and trying not to show too much weakness as she got uncomfortably close to you again. “I must admit, though, that I've totally forgotten what it is you've done. It's a bit embarrassing to say, so I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of me.”

“Like I said before: I've created a perfect formula that mutates any living thing,” she snarled. “It's a painful process, but that's a small sacrifice for the blessing of powers just as great as the Avengers. The rest of the world deserves to have the same opportunity to fight for themselves, so I am being kind enough to bestow my gift upon them, and they will see me as their leader,” she paused, her tone darkening, “whether they like it or not.”

You clicked your fingers, feigning remembrance. “Oh, right! I see, yeah, that's what you did. But... wasn't there something to do with bombs, or...?”

“There are three bombs in three different states across America. When they detonate, my invention will be spread across the land, altering anyone it touches. And the only way to stop it,” she leaned away just enough to reach into her top, flaunting the remote in her grasp, “is with this.”

“With that?” You pointed at it, an expression of fake wonder on your face. “Amazing.”

She jolted it back when you went to touch it, a smile twisting across her features - a smile that was quick to fade as Tasha, who had been sneaking up while Lori was distracted, snatched it from the psychotic woman's grasp. Lori whipped around, just barely grazing your crush's jaw with a wild, unexpected punch. You didn't expect the scientist to be so feisty, but you were clearly proven wrong as she immediately leapt forwards, scratching wildly, while Tasha did her best to keep the remote from the screaming lady as well as protect herself.

“Give it back!” She was yelling at the ex-assassin, quickly restrained by an agent who grabbed her arms and folded them behind her back. “I order you to give it back!”

Lori squirmed and snapped, kicking and yelling. She twisted around, only to freeze and fall silent as she spotted you, a sly, unwelcome look flitting across her features. You suddenly remembered your earplugs and hastily shoved your hands into your pockets, retrieving one and quickly pushing it into your ear, but you didn't get a chance to silence the world completely.

“Kill her,” Lori said lowly, her mouth stretched in an unnaturally wide grin. “Kill anyone who gets in your way of getting that remote control.”

Your hand darted to the waist of the agent who was restraining the woman, and you snatched up a gun, immediately shooting two people before anyone could react. You wanted to stop yourself as you dodged out the way of a hit, spinning around to fire another precise bullet into a third person, but your body just wouldn't listen. The remaining three agents moved in front of Lori, keeping her back while simultaneously drawing their weapons and aiming at you. You ducked, swiping out a leg to trip one before dropping into a roll to avoid a shot that rang painfully in one ear. Two more scarily accurate bullets caused the agents to collapse, clutching hopelessly at their fatal wounds before falling still. Lori was cackling as she watched the chaos unfold with hungry, gleaming eyes. The final agent reluctantly let her go in favour of attempting to attack you, and the scientist wasted no time in darting behind you, but you were quick to take out the threat of the armed person.

You hopped back onto your feet, rapidly turning around in search of the remote until your eyes landed on Tasha and Lori struggling over it. The ex-assassin shoved away the psychotic woman, causing her to fall against a table and bring an avalanche of papers down on top of her. Tasha stared at her for a moment before noticing your approach, and her face visibly drained of colour. She raised a gun towards you, and you did the same to her, coming to a standstill a few feet away. There was nothing worse than being a passenger in your own body, and no matter how much you writhed inside there was no hint to your turmoil as you stared evenly at your crush who held you at gunpoint.

“Don't make me do this,” Tasha's voice was laced with poorly-hidden desperation as her eyes searched yours for any semblance of humanity. “Please, (Y/N), don't make me shoot you. The mission always comes first.”

Your gaze briefly flicked to the remote in her other hand. She paused, probably wondering why you weren't ruthlessly killing her like you had the agents, and took a chance to spare a glance down at the small control unit clasped in her palm. There was a rustle to your right as Lori struggled to sit up, shoving away the research notes and breathing heavily. In a movement so sudden you were almost startled into pulling the trigger, Tasha tossed the remote over to the woman, and it landed in her lap, causing her to stare at it in surprise before a look of triumph spilled across her expression.

“Ha! Even an Avenger can't do anything. There's nothing you can do to stop me.”

Your gaze dipped from Tasha's captivating eyes to the earpiece she had temporarily clipped to her collar. “Uh, Natasha? Can you hurry things up over there? A countdown has started: there's only a minute left before the bombs detonate.” Tony's voice was shaking as he informed her of the situation, but she couldn't hear the update due to the earplugs.

This was it: sixty seconds to be a hero. _Kill anyone who gets in the way of the remote control._ But... you also had to kill Tasha. That's what you'd been ordered to do, except she wasn't getting in the way of the remote, which was your priority, right?

You persuaded your arm to lower, slowly turning to look at where Lori sat amongst the papers, clutching at the device. She looked up when she noticed you walking closer, moving with purpose.

“What are you doing?” She growled, glaring at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You suddenly raised your gun again, going to shoot, only to find there were no more bullets in the chamber. Your fingers loosened and you let it drop to the floor with a clatter. She was quick to catch onto your sinister intentions, grabbing a heavy book and wildly flinging it towards you. It was easy to dodge, and you lurched closer, only for your you to lose your footing as a sheet of paper slipped underneath your shoe. You stumbled forwards, slamming your forehead into the edge of the table and dropping heavily next to Lori in a daze.

“Thirty seconds, Nat!”

 _Kill anyone who gets in the way of the remote control._ You picked yourself up because you had to, and you threw yourself at Lori as she tried to crawl away. The room was spinning as you punched her in the face, over and over, your knuckles aching with each hit and the woman squealing and squirming beneath you. You paused for a moment, reaching into your pocket to grab the pen.

“Stop!” She choked out in the sudden lull between hits, “stop attacking me!”

You jolted to a halt, the tip of the pen inches from her neck, before your eyes landed on where she had left the remote next to her head.

“Ten seconds, Jesus Christ- please hurry things up!”

There was a code you needed to input on the device. Your brain whirled into overdrive, running through possibilities. The numbers on the walls- they must mean something- you had to work it out, or people will die-

“Five!”

You clumsily reached over, jamming your finger against the keypad. _3-4-_

“Four, oh god-”

Lori noticed what you were trying to do and tried to shove you off, but she wasn't strong enough after being beaten to a pulp. _8-5-_

“Three-”

Her fingers circled your throat and tightened like a noose, digging into your skin and choking you. _8-_

“Two-”

Your instincts screamed at you to stop her, but you powered on and pressed the _7_. A green light illuminated on the remote as a chipper beep sounded.

“...one?”

You blindly fumbled your hand across the floor beside you, knowing you had seen something earlier. Your fingers clasped around the object, and you wasted no time in jabbing the taser into her side, your desire to survive overriding anything the psycho had ordered you to do. The shocks burned through any points of contact between the two of you, but you gritted your teeth against the pain and held it there until her hands fell from your throat. You slumped off her limp form, lying face-down on the floor next to the remote without any desire to move any time soon, despite the dust and filth you were breathing in. Your entire body hurt, and you felt like you needed to nap for an eternity.

Light footsteps approached and a gentle hand rested briefly against your back before moving to your shoulder and nudging you onto your side. The tension seemed to flood from Tasha's body when your exhausted eyes met hers.

“You okay?” She asked in a tone softer than you'd ever heard her use, cupping one side of your bloody face with a hand.

For once, you didn't have the energy or inclination to spin an extravagant yarn, instead sighing heavily and contentedly leaning into her loving touch. “I'm okay.”


End file.
